by Roxanne Halpine Ward
That winter crawled inside me
for warmth, took all mine away.
Even in May I still wore boots
and tights and sweaters, still
not able to believe in anything like
the spring. Even in May I was still
too tired to do more than work,
eat, sleep, work. I just kept
feeding that winter inside me,
not knowing how to yank it out
even as it gnawed my bones.
Roxanne Halpine Ward is a graduate of the MFA program at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro and a past attendee of the Bucknell Seminar for Younger Poets. Her work has appeared in the Georgia Review, Greensboro Review, and the Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, among others, and my chapbook, This Electric Glow, was published by Seven Kitchens Press in 2012.